


At the Sound of the Bell

by BinnietheKing



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluffy, M/M, Tattoo Artist!Fenris, florist!Hawke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-16 23:48:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5845690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BinnietheKing/pseuds/BinnietheKing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Fenhawke Week on tumblr "in any universe:" He stopped short when he got a glimpse of the man who was ambling around. The man wasn’t especially tall, nor was he especially broad, but the width of his shoulders did belie the existence of some muscle beneath the leather jacket covering them. His legs were surprisingly long for his height, covered in deep blue jeans. The man’s hair was white, as if it had been bleached quite viciously, but it appeared soft as it caught the fluorescent lighting.<br/>In which Hawke is minding his own business and Fenris ruins his day. Or makes it better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At the Sound of the Bell

Hawke was holed up in the back of the shop when the bell rang. He almost didn’t notice with how engrossed he was in the zinnias. They were absolutely stunning, even in the dim lighting, their tiers of petals curled over each other in bright yellows and pinks as if nature tried to capture a sunburst in the best way it knew how. There was something melancholy but peaceful about making an arrangement for a funeral, especially for someone he knew, and Hawke was deep within his own head, assessing and snipping and placing flowers with care.

What startled him out of his focus was the sound of his own voice as he instinctively called, “Be there in a moment!” at the sound of said bell. Grumbling to himself about weird conditioning experiments, Hawke ran a hand over his beard to make sure there weren’t any flowery bits stuck there before he waltzed to the front of the shop.

He stopped short when he got a glimpse of the man who was ambling around. The man wasn’t especially tall, nor was he especially broad, but the width of his shoulders did belie the existence of some muscle beneath the leather jacket covering them. His legs were surprisingly long for his height, covered in deep blue jeans. The man’s hair was white, as if it had been bleached quite viciously, but it appeared soft as it caught the fluorescent lighting.

Hawke cleared his throat and then promptly regretted it. The stranger turned, and Hawke was trapped in the roundest, saddest, most complexly colored eyes he had ever seen - which was saying something considering he had seen Merrill's in full pout. They must have been some shade of hazel, appearing almost green, but the slightest tilt of the man’s head had them looking dark, like a murky forest pond, their true depths never fathomable.

Eyes narrowed, Hawke almost stepped closer, but then it was the stranger’s turn to make a sound. “Hello,” he said.

_How does he have a voice like that?_ Hawke thought. He was not expecting to be thrown this far into the deep end of lust-at-first-sight. That voice was already low and rumbling, and Hawke likened it to the intimately scratchy way a voice usually sounded in the early morning before being broken in with practice. Or after being over-used in other ways… And his accent was subtle and hard to place.

“Ah, well, yes,” Hawke stammered, regaining his bearings. “Welcome to the Amell Flower Shoppe, how may I help you?”

“Are you an Amell?” the man asked.

Hawke noticed that the man’s tanned skin was interrupted underneath those slightly chapped, but no less full, lips, by what looked like a tattoo in light ink. As if Hawke didn’t already need an excuse to look the guy over, it appeared the tattoo continued downward, over his neck. Hawke certainly couldn’t be blamed for wondering how much farther down it extended.

Noticing that he was being frowned at after he tore his eyes away from the delicate lines on the man’s neck, Hawke supplied, “Technically I’m a Hawke- Garrett Hawke. The Amell comes from my mother. It’s her family’s business. As such, she wasn’t really keen on my suggestions for renaming the place, but honestly, with a name like ‘Amell’ it was such a wasted opportunity. ‘Wake Up and Amell the Roses’? Comedy naming gold.” Hawke fixed the man with a smile.

Those chapped lips curled up just slightly at the corners, and Hawke gathered that it was this man’s way of acknowledging the joke. Subtle but cute.

“Well, Hawke, I was hoping for a bit of assistance.”

Hawke felt his spirits fall just a little as he realized that people usually came into flower shops because they were looking for something for a significant other. _Dammit, of course he’s here to buy his girlfriend flowers. Keep it together_. Smile still in place, but with more force behind it, Hawke motioned to the various displays around the store. “We’ve got vah-ses and vay-ses, bouquet-ses? With just about any type of flower you want.”

“That won’t be necessary,” the man replied. “I work at the tattoo parlor down the street,” he indicated the way with a finger that Hawke noticed was also tattooed with the same color and style as his neck. “A client of mine has asked for a particular flower tattoo, and I was just stopping by for reference.”

Ah, so that’s what it was. Hawke let out a breath of relief, cleverly disguised as a chuckle. “No problem, sir, just let me know what you’re looking for.”

“Fenris.”

“Come again?”

“My name is Fenris.”

“Oh good,” Hawke exclaimed, “and here I thought you were testing my knowledge with a flower I’d never heard of before.”

Fenris snorted, eyes lingering on Hawke’s face for just a moment before flitting to the ground. “She was looking for a,” he reached into a pocket and pulled out a scrap of loose-leaf, “gladiolus.”

Nodding sagely, Hawke strode over to the bin of fresh gladioli hanging over by the window. “Mmm, yes, the flower of strength of character. Honor. Remembrance. Lovely choice, much more original than a rose.” He fished one out, one that looked especially healthy with six blooming flowers sprouting from the stem. The colors were beautiful, a creamy white bleeding into yellow with a tinge of pink blushing around the edges. It was perfect.

Hawke held it out for inspection, noticing that Fenris looked a little…flustered? His ears were slightly pink and his eyes kept darting from Hawke’s arms to his face and then to the floor before he took a look at the plant being touted in front of him.

“Oh. That certainly will suffice,” Fenris remarked, voice strained through tight lips.

“Allow me to pack this up for you, Fenris.” Hawke found that he liked the way the name fell from his lips. So unusual, but then it seemed to suit the tattooed man so well. He moved behind the counter, getting out the thin green cylinder that would keep the bottom of the stem wet while in transit. Bustling about, he filled the small container with just a smidge of water before popping on the green rubber top.

Just as Hawke was about to open his mouth to ask for help, Fenris spoke up. “You don’t seem like the type of man to be so knowledgeable about flowers.”

“The muscles tend to warp people’s perception of me.” Hawke winked, only flexing his biceps just a little. “‘Won’t you break the delicate petals with your big bara arms?’” he said, voice raised mockingly, “But really, it’s not that difficult to know when a little extra care is needed. Unless it’s the beard that has you thrown off. I’ll have you know it looks splendid covered in daisy blossoms.”    

When hazel eyes met square on with brown, this time there was a more confident twinkle in those depths. “I’ve no doubt,” was all Fenris said.

Positively tickled that his flirting wasn’t outright making the customer uncomfortable, Hawke was struck with an idea. He punched a few numbers into the register. “That will be $6.00, please.”

Fenris pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, flipping the appropriate bills out of it. They made the exchange, one gladiolus for the cash, but Hawke wouldn’t let Fenris leave just yet. “Give me just a moment.”

Waltzing to the back with a frenetic sort of excitement, he found exactly the flower he was looking for. They only had a few in the store at a time, their popularity waning and flaring with the seasons. But Hawke took one look at the deep purple blossom, edges ruffled and tinted white like rumpled silk, and he couldn’t imagine allowing Fenris to walk away without one.

Hawke marched back out again with the same level of determination before presenting a second flower to the smaller man. “For you,” he said, “on the house.”

“Its lovely,” Fenris said, hand hesitating only slightly in surprise as he reached up to take it.

Their fingers bumped together.

“What does this mean?” Fenris inquired, eyeing Hawke through his lashes as he bent his head to sniff the blossom.

“Now, if I told you that, it wouldn’t be any fun, would it?” Hawke smiled again, lopsided and a little goofy-looking.

“I’ll consider it a challenge, then.” Fenris inclined his head. “Let me know if you ever consider getting a tattoo.” He eyed Hawke’s visible biceps again before reaching for the door.

“Let me know if you ever need any more references.”

“Good day, Hawke,” Fenris called before jostling the bell again as he exited the shop.

Hawke sighed. “Well,” he thought aloud, “I suppose I’ll have to cover the cost of that gloxinia.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! You can find me and the rest of this week's prompts on tumblr at justwhoiamthisweek. Considering making this into a longer fic because who doesn't want the opportunity to see our lovely boys in flower crowns at some point?


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